Fckin Tic-Tacs
by my-graceless-heart
Summary: Grantaire has been driving Enjolras insane, especially because he keeps making those goddamn comments, and has a boyfriend so Enjolras can't do anything about it. Or can he? Rated M for language.


Enjolras flopped into the seat across from him with a sigh. "He's going to kill me."

Combeferre closed his laptop, trying not to smile. This scene had played out so often lately that he could tell exactly how it was going to go. "Who is?"

He gestured helplessly at the other side of the student union. He followed the movement and found exactly who he expected on the other end. Grantaire, whip-thin and a head shorter than Enjolras, messy black hair tucked up under a black beanie and red high tops poking out under his skinny jeans. "What did he do this time?" he asked, turning back to his friend, who now had his head in his hands.

"Just…" his hand flailed out again. "Everything. Every time we talk, we always end up talking about sex, and he just looks at me with this wicked grin and it's _fucking frustrating_."

"Well, why don't you do something about it?"

"He has a boyfriend."

"Who has a boyfriend?" a new voice asked, and Enjolras' head shot up. Grantaire leaned against the back of one of the empty chairs at the table, mouth cocked into a smirk.

"Jehan," Combeferre covered smoothly, since Enjolras was currently trying not to gape like a fish at the dip of Grantaire's v-neck. "He found someone in one of his classes and finally asked him out." His phone beeped then, mercifully. "I've gotta go. Class. Nice to see you, R," He tucked his laptop back into his bag and stood to give Enjolras a hug. "Don't stare so much. You look like a deer caught in headlights," he whispered in his ear before letting go.

"I'll try," Enjolras said, but his gaze kept flicking over Combeferre's shoulder to where he knew Grantaire had taken his seat.

Combeferre sighed internally, knowing this had to play out. He slung his bag over his shoulder and headed to class, praying that Grantaire wouldn't be too hard on his friend.

Enjolras watched Combeferre go with something that felt a little bit like panic and a lot like nausea. Left alone with Grantaire. Well, not _alone_ alone. They were in the middle of the student union, the lunch crowd swirling around them as students took a break from classes to eat overpriced sandwiches and drink bad commercialized coffee. Still, one too many of his fantasies lately had started just like this, so it was a bit difficult to look at Grantaire again.

The artist had swung Combeferre's chair around, straddling it in a way that Enjolras refused to think about. "Soo," he said, drawing out the word. "Jehan got a boyfriend, huh?"

"Yep," Enjolras replied. Monosyllables. This was what Grantaire reduced him to. So much for being a praised public speaker.

"I'm sure he's glad to get some action," the tip of Graintaire's tongue just touched the bow of his upper lip. "I know I would be."

"Must be pretty easy," Enjolras shifted in his seat, trying to ignore the tattoos curling out from under his sleeves. They moved with the muscles almost hypnotically, the story of his life written out on his skin. He'd told Enjolras about them once, when they were both drunk and half-high, laying on the bed of Grantaire's truck with the rest of their friends sprawled out asleep around them. They'd gone to see a meteor shower, and afterwards only the two of them had stayed awake, passing a bottle back and forth, adding an edge to the joint that had been passed around earlier. Enjolras had almost kissed him then. The artist's eyes were as bright as the stars as he translating the looping Gaelic script around his wrists. Those were at tribute to his mother, who had come over to the states from Dublin when she was the age they were now. Alcohol heavy on his breath, Enjolras had leaned closer, closer, wanting to still Grantaire's lips with his own. Until he had yanked up his left shirtsleeve to display a red star, and started talking about his childhood friend that had gone off to fight and how the tattoo was for him, so he wouldn't forget how much Bahorel meant to him.

Enjolras sank back after that. Bahorel. Grantaire's boyfriend. He had to be, with the way Grantaire always lit up when he talked about him. He'd seen the two of them around campus sometimes after that. They were always near each other, always smiling. He tried to ignore the pang he got whenever he saw them together.

"Too bad I'm never able to get the one I want," Grantaire said, snapping Enjolras back to the present.

"What?" Enjolras asked, brain trying to catch up.

"You said it must be easy for me to get some action," a slow, scorching grin spread across Grantaire's face, and the bottom dropped out of Enjolras' stomach. "And I said that I wasn't able to get the one I want."

Enjolras' brain wasn't quite able to process that one, since it was still catching up after that grin. Still, it was able to notice the flash of white against Grantaire's tongue. "Do you have something in your mouth?"

Grantaire's tongue moved, a bit of his tongue piercing flashing through the gap in his teeth (which absolutely did _not_ send a rush of heat straight to Enjolras' groin. Nope. Absolutely not.). A small, white pill-looking thing popped up in between his teeth. "Tic Tac," Grantaire replied, letting it drop back into his mouth again. "Sometimes I just need to, ah," he leaned forward, dragging his gaze up the length of Enjolras' body. It made him feel hot and cold all at once, dizzy with want. "Suck on my problems. Roll them around on my tongue a bit until I know just how to take care of them."

That was just too much. "What about your boyfriend?" Enjolras snapped, tired of how Grantaire was clearly just stringing him along.

But then something unexpected happened. Grantaire blinked, clearly surprised. "What?"

"Your boyfriend," Enjolras repeated. "The one you got the tattoo for. The one you're always with. I really don't think it's fair for you to always say things like this when you're dating someone. I mean, it seems like all we talk about is sex, and while I normally wouldn't mind it's giving me a _serious_ case of blue balls because you are so unfairly attractive with your skinny jeans and tongue piercing and tattoos and why are you grinning at me like that?"

Grantaire pillowed his chin on his arms, looking up at Enjolras through his eyelashes. "I don't have a boyfriend."

"Wh-" Enjolras began, but his brain shorted out again, watching Grantaire's thumb trace slowly over his bottom lip. "But the guy. The one you're always with," he managed. "The one you got the tattoo for."

"Bahorel?" Grantaire asked, eyed widening. He let out a laugh, bright and beautiful. "He's like my brother! We've known each other since we were little."

"So…" Enjolras said slowly, letting the information process. "You're not dating anyone."

Grantaire smirked at him, and his stomach flipped over. "Nope."

Enjolras growled and grabbed the neck of his shirt, pulling him into a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Grantaire's stubble scraped against his chin, mixing with the wet heat of his tongue, dizzying and demanding, and all Enjolras wanted was _more_.

He stood, shoving his chair back. "Bathroom. Now."

Grantaire gave him a lazy salute, the smirk still curling on his mouth like a cat. "Yes, sir."

Enjolras rolled his eyes, gathering his things so he could shove the artist into a stall and make him realize just how frustrated he had made Enjolras. Especially with that fucking Tic-Tac.


End file.
